


Five Times Elizabeth and Neal Carried on without Peter

by rabidchild67



Series: Five Times... [8]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:12:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title says it all. </p><p>originally published in early 2011</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Elizabeth and Neal Carried on without Peter

**Author's Note:**

> Though this is part of a series, it can be read standalone. For the purposes of this fic, Neal has left the FBI post-anklet and accepted a job at the fictional Lampton Gallery. He has also entered into a loving and lovely poly relationship with Peter and El, and, somewhere between the second and third parts of this tale, they've made a commitment to each other to live together until death parts them.

**Opening Night Jitters**

Despite what most people thought, Neal Caffrey fell in love with Elizabeth Burke first. Sure, he’d lusted after Peter for years, but when it came to lay-down-your-life, sleepless-night devotion, it was Elizabeth that first stirred those feelings.

It was something he barely noticed happening over the years. He chalked his first, warm emotions up to loneliness. Here was a kind, beautiful, talented woman who was paying attention to him after four long years of prison-enforced celibacy – having feelings for her, however unwelcome, was natural. When his feelings persisted, he tried desperately to turn them into brotherly affection, platonic respect. This woman was his _partner’s wife_ , after all, and respect must be paid. He told himself this for many months until he eventually believed it.

During that time, he found his attraction to Peter growing, but for some reason that was easier to deal with. Peter and he were more or less equals, the camaraderie and banter so easy that his feelings could be suppressed most of the time, periodic increases in their intensity indulged by the occasional fantasy, his passions served by a quick wank in the shower.

So when Peter first approached Neal with the proposition that he and Elizabeth would like to date him, he had to give it serious thought. His initial reaction was to throw himself at their feet and declare his undying devotion, until he reminded himself that he was often (rightly) accused of acting without thinking, leaping before looking, and he thought he ought to give such a major step serious consideration. The disappointed look on Peter’s face when he said this was one it pained Neal to see, even if his reluctance lasted less than an hour. He had phoned Peter and agreed before the older man had had a chance to make it to the Brooklyn Bridge.

During his courtship with the Burkes – he smiled to use such an old-fashioned word, but that’s what it was – he’d always known that their arrangement wasn’t necessarily equal across the board. He was surprisingly OK with it. After all, Elizabeth and Peter had a shared history of over a dozen years and he knew he could not compete with that level of intimacy. He admired it. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling he had stronger feelings for Elizabeth than she had for him.

Neal and Peter’s first time had been awkward at the start, but ultimately sweet and memorable once the proper amount of bourbon had been consumed by each of them. His first time with the Burkes together had been hot and intense and utterly satisfying, leaving him with a sense of contentment and happiness he had not allowed himself to feel in a long time. And now he was faced with his first time alone with Elizabeth and he was scared to death.

She was coming to his place. She would be there in moments. He buzzed around the apartment, ensuring everything was tidy and in its place, but he refused to light candles or lower the lighting or put out flowers. Such token “romantic” gestures seemed overly trite and smacked of desperation. This wasn’t a seduction, it was…more important.

He would put out wine, though. The wine he needed. He downed his second glass as a knock sounded at the door. “Elizabeth,” he greeted her warmly, a kiss to the cheek.

She took his chin in her hand and guided his mouth to hers, kissing him deeply. No half-gestures tonight. “You taste good,” she murmured.

“It’s the wine. Would you like a glass?”

“I would.” She entered the apartment and accepted the glass. He noticed that her lipstick was just a shade darker than the pinot. Her mouth was a distraction, the tip of her tongue flicked out, licking the wine from her lips. He took an involuntary step forward. She noticed and smiled, reached past him to the table and snagged a small bunch of grapes from the plate that lay there. Her perfume wafted up, filling his nostrils, his mouth, his head. He cleared his throat. She pulled a grape from its stem with her teeth.

It was too much for him. With a small, desperate moan he pounced on her, kissing and sucking at her mouth, her throat, her collarbone. She laughed and threw her arms around his neck, pressing herself up against him. He straightened up, turned her, and lifted her onto the table, kissing her the whole while. Her knees parted so he could stand closer. She hooked her leg around his as they made out, pressing close. He reached down, ran his hand up her thigh. She wore garters and stockings but no panties. He found this so hot he nearly embarrassed himself. Thankfully, she pushed him away.

“Take your shirt off,” she told him, and he pulled the tee over his head. She ran her hands down his torso, brushing her fingertips along each ab muscle, admiringly, lingeringly, rested a fingertip in his belly button, pressing, tickling the fine hairs there. Finally she undid his belt, found his cock already straining up against his belly. She smiled, ran her hands under the waistband of his pants and eased them down past his hips. He stepped out of them. She shimmied her ass further back onto the table, untied the belt of her wrap dress and shrugged it off. She wore nothing else underneath. She reached down between her thighs and started fingering herself. “Touch yourself,” she suggested, and he reached for his cock with a shaking hand.

“Tell me how you like it. Show me how you like to be touched,” she ordered, stroking her clit with one hand and pulling lazily at her nipples with the other.

“Like this,” he breathed, stroking up and down, spreading his precum over the head for lubricant, pausing to press a fingernail in the slit once, twice. “And like this.” He twisted his hand around the head of his dick, ran his fingers under the shaft, along the long vein there, closed his eyes and moaned.

Elizabeth watched, rapt, two fingers buried inside herself, bumping at her clit with her thumb. He looked up at her then; her pupils were blown wide open, turning her blue eyes nearly black. She removed her hand from her pussy and shoved her fingers in his mouth. He sucked them and stepped towards her again, kissed her.

She turned her face to the side so he could kiss her neck. She took his earlobe in her teeth and sucked there a minute, and finally whispered, “If I don’t have you inside me in two minutes, I might just die.”

“What, here?” He didn’t have much confidence the antique table would hold them.

“The bed,” she breathed. He picked her up. “Oh!” she exclaimed, surprised at his strength. He grinned, kissed her sloppily and stumbled blindly toward the bedroom. He laid her down and stretched out beside her, kissing her throat, her breasts. She rose up on her elbow, eased him onto his back and straddled him. She reached down, guided his cock inside her and began to ride him, slowly at first, languidly. He reached for her breasts, tweaking her nipples and she moaned, arched her back, rode him harder, faster. He began to thrust up into her. She reached down, rubbed at her clit urgently. “Oh, baby, I’m so close,” she sighed. “So close.”  And then she was there, the muscles of her vagina pulsating around him, and he came inside her as she rode the final wave.

She collapsed on his chest, panting, slid off and to the side, her legs entwined with his. He loved the feel of her in his arms – comfortingly solid. He clutched her to him, tucked her head under his chin and traced lazy circles on her back. They lay like that for a while, Neal eventually pulling the duvet over them as the sweat cooled their naked bodies. He was soon fighting off sleep, content with her in his arms, a feeling of completeness overwhelming him.  “Love you,” he sighed as he finally succumbed and closed his eyes.

Elizabeth lifted her head and watched him sleep, her eyes filling with happy tears. “Aww, I love you, too, Neal. More than you probably know,” she told him, fondly stroking the damp hairs back from his forehead.

\----

**Situational Readiness**

Neal watched Elizabeth move through the main gallery at the Lampton, her stilettos making click-clack-clicking sounds on the polished cement as she stalked the floor. She directed the caterer on where to set up the bar, settled a dispute between the chef and the servers, and supervised the lighting and staging for the jazz combo. Burke Premier Events had been engaged to handle Nigel Lampton’s annual charity auction, and Elizabeth was feeling the pressure. It was one of the most important events of the year in the New York art scene, and for her small company to get a shot at it was an immense vote of confidence. To say that a lot rode on the success of this event was an understatement. 

Neal had helped secure the job for Elizabeth, after asking his boss Nigel to attend an event Elizabeth handled for another client. Nigel, fatuous snob that he was, had been surprisingly impressed by the venue, food and theme, and charmed by Elizabeth, and so had asked her do this event. As Neal watched Elizabeth, he noticed an underlying current of agitation in her manner and knew something must be done to calm her down before the event got started – in five short hours.

He caught her eye and beckoned her to come over. She nodded, finished giving specific instructions to the hostesses and hurried over.

“Yes? Is something the matter?” she asked, impatient.

“Can I speak with you in my office?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer, just led the way to the spiral stairs. He gestured for her to precede him, a hand at the small of her back as she moved past him, and followed her up.

Neal’s office was actually a loft, open on two sides and overlooking the main floor of the gallery. “This had better be important, baby. This party starts in less than five hours, and there’s still way too much to take care of. Nigel...”

“Nigel will be at least an hour late, he always is,” Neal said, his voice low. He was behind her, running his hands down her arms, pulled her near. He leaned forward and put his lips to her ear. “And if you don’t relax, you’ll be burned out before this event even gets started.”

The deep timbre of his voice, his breath so near, sent a shiver down her, but she tried to pull away. “Come on, stop it. I’ve got to get back downstairs – oh-oh-oh!”

Neal had started kissing her on the neck, his beard rough and scratchy and oh, how it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up! Her arm shot up and she thrust her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer. “I really don’t have time for this,” she said, realizing as she said it how unconvincing she sounded. “Someone could see us, Neal.”

“Then I’d better make this quick,” he breathed into her ear. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against his body with one hand while the other reached down and lifted her skirt. She gasped as he plunged his hand down her panties, his deft, sculptor’s fingers immediately finding the spot just to the left of her clit and worrying it deliciously. She leaned fully into him, standing on her toes as she rode his hand, clenching her thighs for more friction, and squeezing her nipples through the thin fabric of her silk dress. She turned her face toward him and he kissed her, their tongues thrusting and parrying. She came within minutes – Neal knew her body too well – and when it was over, he held her close until the trembling in her thighs subsided.

They parted and she turned toward him, adjusting her dress and smoothing her hair. She made a show of straightening the knot on his tie, even though it was unnecessary (how could be have remained so unrumpled – part of the patented Caffrey charm, no doubt). “Well, thanks for the advice, Mr. Caffrey. Your, um, _input_ is always welcome.”

\----

**Coping Mechanisms**

“Shhh,” Neal said. “It’s all right. He’ll be all right, the doctor said.” They were lying in their bed and Elizabeth clung to him, sobbing.

Peter was currently listed in stable condition at Lenox Hill Hospital following a gunshot wound to his upper thigh. Thankfully, his Kevlar vest had caught the other two bullets that had hit him square in the chest. Neal didn’t like to think about how wrong the operation could’ve gone had the blessed vest not been in place. He also couldn’t help but think he might have done something to prevent it in the first place had he been there.

The sting Peter had been running involved an antiquities smuggling ring being run by Ethan Reynolds, a protégé of sorts of Ryan Wilkes. He’d been using an alias, had covered his tracks well, and was running with an entirely different crew, but Neal couldn’t shake the feeling that if he’d been in on the case he’d have spotted something that would’ve changed the outcome. What that might have been, he didn’t know. He didn’t have to be rational. Guilt was like that.

He hugged Elizabeth to him tighter, kissing her hair and murmured comforting words and phrases as she cried it out. She tilted her head up to him for him to kiss her and he did, not passionately but deeply, wanting to draw the upset and worry out of her, to swallow it down inside himself. Soon he realized she wanted more, as she ran her hand down his belly and into his boxers, caressing him there, pressing, holding. “Oh, Elizabeth,” he sighed, laying her down beneath him. She pressed kisses into his throat as he entered her, wrapping her legs around his hips and they made  love, gently, slowly, for a long time, gaining comfort in the closeness that could be found in each other’s arms, trying to forget the reason for the Peter-shaped void in their bed.

When it was over and they lay on their backs side by side, Neal cleared his throat and told her what had been weighing heavily on his mind all day. “Elizabeth, what do you think of me going back to work for the FBI?”

She got up on an elbow and looked at him. “I think I hate that idea.”

“I think it’s something I have to do,” he replied, staring at the ceiling.

“I think there are two more people who need to have a say in this decision, Neal.” She grabbed his chin and made him look at her. “And I think this is a hell of a bad time to bring it up.”

“It’s the perfect time.”

“With our husband lying in a hospital bed with a gunshot wound? Way to present your case, Caffrey. What makes you think I would possibly agree to this?” She sat up and faced him, glaring.

“Because it’s something I have to do. Because it was the best thing I ever did, and I regret leaving. And because if I had been there today –“

“What?”

“This wouldn’t have happened.”

“Not even you, the King of Pain, can possibly blame yourself for Peter being shot,” she said bitterly. She flinched as she said the words, as if she knew they would sting and she didn’t mean to be quite so harsh.

Neal _was_ stung, but he didn’t back down. He sat up and took her hand. “No, but nothing like this happened when I had his back. Please, Elizabeth, this is something I really have to do.”

“And you’re asking for my permission?”

“I’m asking for your support.”

She looked at him, then, her face hard. “I don’t know if I can give it, Neal.”

He dropped her hand and looked down. “You wouldn’t ask Peter to leave the bureau.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

“Then you can’t ask me not to do this.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not. But it’s my only argument. I have to do this.”

She didn’t answer, just looked at him for a good minute. Then she rose, put on her robe and left the room.

Deflated, he leaned back against the head board, but he didn’t go after her. She’d need some alone time to sort it out. If she supported him, she’d tell him so, and if she didn’t, she’d be back to kick his ass later.

When she finally came back more than an hour later, he was sitting in the oversized easy chair near the windows, sketching Peter’s hands from memory. She stood in the doorway and watched him, then came to him and curled up next to him with her knees tucked up against her body. He dropped the sketchpad and wrapped his arms around her.

“I worry about Peter every single day he leaves this house,” she began, talking slowly. “Sometimes, when I see him put on his shoulder holster, it’s all I can do not to curl up into the fetal position until he comes home. With you it will be the same thing all over again, Neal, and I don’t know if I have the emotional capacity for it.”

Neal closed his eyes, touched his forehead to Elizabeth’s and sighed. She reached up and put her hand on his cheek, caressing his mouth with her thumb. “But.” She took a deep breath, and then another, fighting back tears. “But I know that this is more than a whim for you, it’s a calling, and I won’t be the one who keeps you from it.”

When he opened his eyes, there were tears in them. She kissed each of them, and rested her hand on his chest. “Please just tell me you’ll be careful,” she said. “That’s my heart you’ll be carrying around with you and it is easily damaged.”

“I promise to be as careful as I’ve ever been.”

She smiled. “I’ll accept that comment at face value and not remind you of how careful you were when you jumped out of a fourth floor window onto an awning. Or how careful you were swinging through a window on a banner like Errol Flynn. _Or_ the time you got all drugged up at that clinic –“

“OK, OK,” he said, smiling himself. “I’ll be as careful as _Peter_ , then.”

“That’s more like it.”

\----

**Nocturnal Emissions**

The alarm sounded and Peter silenced it with a groan. He sat on the edge of the bed for a few seconds, trying to wake a little more fully, and then shuffled off to the bathroom. Elizabeth whined a protest as the covers fell away, and turned over to snuggle against Neal for warmth. As she got in closer, she noticed a familiar fullness hitting her right in the hip. Smiling, she slid her hand down between them and began to slowly stroke his half-erect dick. She wanted to see how far she’d get with him before he woke. Neal was usually up for sex on any morning, and with her pregnancy hormones making her horny at unpredictable times, he was happily getting more than usual.

“Hmmm,” he said, stirring, but not waking. He tossed his head and sighed. Elizabeth continued stroking, gently but firmly, and he was soon fully erect. She inched closer to him and hiked her leg over his hip, guiding the head of his penis into her.  Then she pulled him closer to her with her leg, thrusting her hips toward him until he was buried inside her. “Unh,” he said. “Umfff,” and snuggled his face deeper into his pillow. She smiled, but was disappointed to find the going slow and disappointingly one-sided. She hiked her leg higher on his hip and reached down to pull his ass into it, hoping for deeper penetration. This worked but without a conscious partner, was still a bit disappointing.

She thought some extra stimulation might work, so she licked her middle finger and slipped it along the crack of his ass until she was pressing it at the entrance to his anus, gently but firmly. This had the desired effect, as his eyes flew open. “Hey,” she said, her voice morning-scratchy. His momentary confusion passed as he took a quick inventory of exactly what was going on. “Hey,” he said, and yawned. “Been busy?”

“Come on,” she urged, and gave her hips a forward thrust. He obliged, pumping into her with long, languid strokes.

“Oh, that’s nice,” she said as they found their rhythm.

“Ooooo,” she sighed as she climaxed a few minutes later, a gentle breeze compared to the gale forces she usually experienced, but pleasant nonetheless.

“Mmmm,” he answered, as he came inside her. They stayed entwined together, their faces snuggled into the crooks of each others’ necks.

Peter entered the room then, the light from the hall pooling over the bed. He was fresh from the shower, a towel wrapped low around his hips, scrubbing at his damp hair with another. “Hey, you two lazybones,” he said with a smile, “up and at ‘em.”

Neal pulled himself away from Elizabeth with a groan and slid from underneath the covers. “Oh, I’ve already been at ‘em,” Neal said and made his way to the bathroom.

\----

**It’s a Chore**

“Honey!” Peter called up the stairs. “I’m leaving. Do you need _anything_ else from the market?” Peter’s quick trip to the supermarket for bread and cheese had turned into a major undertaking, with the list growing to more than 30 items, between Neal’s sudden desire to make cassoulet for dinner and the fact that nearly every dairy item in the house seemed to be gone or on the edge of scientific experiment status.

“Lemons!” she called from the bathroom. She’d wanted to make lemonade lately. “Two bags!”

Peter made a note on his list and waited a beat. Two. Three. “And sugar!” she called. He nodded, made the note and headed for the door.

El continued scrubbing out the bathtub in the guest bath on the third floor. They were expecting Peter’s mother for a visit and she was arriving mid-afternoon. “Hey, Elizabeth,” Neal said as he entered the room, “do we have any more Soft Scrub? I was going to do the sink in the – Hrrrmmm.” Neal stopped in his tracks as he saw her, bent over the tub, the scrubbing movements she was making causing her ass to jiggle in the cutest possible way.

Elizabeth knew that sound, and she stood, pointing a dripping sponge at him. “Oh no, mister. Anna is going to be here in, like, six hours and this place has got to be spic and span or I’ll never hear the end of it. There will be no sexy times.”

“Oh my God, you’re sexy,” Neal said, a lascivious smirk on his face.

El looked down at herself and snorted. She was barefoot, wearing faded pink gym shorts and an NYU hoodie with her hair in a ponytail on top of her head. She hadn’t even taken the time to put her contact lenses in today. “Oh my God, you are so full of shit,” she told him, but he was already moving towards her.

He turned her so her back was against the wall and basically ravished her with his mouth and tongue until she was panting. She knew she had to get him to stop. As nice as this was – and there was no part of her that didn’t admit that it was very, very nice – there was simply too much to be done this morning. So she played her trump card. “We’ll wake the baby!”

He stopped immediately, stood back and considered her, dorky glasses, yellow rubber gloves and all, and decided. “Fuck it, I can be quiet.” And he shoved her sweatshirt up and slid both hands down her ass cheeks and squeezed, pulling her toward him.

“Neal!” she squealed.

“Shh, the baby,” Neal admonished, and she smacked him on the shoulder. This earned her a playful nip on the neck. It tickled and she squirmed against him reflexively.

“Stop that!”

“Oh, sorry,” he purred, and stood back. He took the momentary lull to pull his t-shirt off over his head – one of Peter’s Yankees shirts, too big, but smelling of him – and helped her pull her shirt off too. He palmed her breasts through the fabric of her bra and she flinched. Her nipples were sore from nursing. “Sorry.”

“Forget about it, come here.” She pulled him in for a kiss.

God, Neal was a good kisser. With a new baby in the house, they’d all been missing each other, and El missed Neal’s lips (and Peter’s hands) the most. She sank to the floor and they lay on the bathmat, and she saw the little tumbleweeds of dog hair, made a mental note to get to them later. Anna would certainly not miss them.

Then she noticed something else on the floor – a set of work boots, and attached to them the legs of her other husband.

“Hey!” Peter said, suddenly in the room. He’d forgotten his wallet and had returned home. They looked up at him, busted. “My mom is going to be here in, like, four hours and you two are fucking like bunnies on the bathroom floor?”

“Six,” El said, breathless. “Your mom will be here in six hours.”

“Well in that case, move over!” he grinned, throwing off his jacket with a laugh.

“Don’t wake the baby,” Neal reminded him, and welcomed him to the dog pile with a kiss.

Thank you for your time.


End file.
